Credence

by Penelope Douglas

  I don’t watch a lot of movies with other people. I’m not used to just sitting in silence with someone else. Cole’s and my schedules don’t always mesh, my sister, Cam, doesn’t have any free time anymore, and most of my high school friendships didn’t last past graduation about a year ago. It’s nice to hang out.

  By the time the credits roll, I’m not sure I remember much of the movie. But I haven’t been this relaxed in a long time. I laughed and smiled and joked around and forgot everything that’s going on out there, and I needed that. I don’t really want to go home yet.

  The lights start to come up, and I slowly sit up, bringing my feet back to the floor as I swallow the lump in my throat and glance over at him. He sits up, too, but he barely meets my eyes.

  Standing up, I hook the strap of the bag over my head and pick up my garbage.

  “Well, they’re showing Poltergeist in a few weeks,” he says behind me, rising and taking his trash with him. “If I see you, I’ll make sure to sit at higher ground.”

  I laugh under my breath, thinking about the wine. We both exit the row and walk for the doors, and I notice Jay and his date aren’t in their seats anymore. They must’ve left already, but truth be told, I forgot they were here a long time ago.

  Poltergeist. Does that mean he’ll be here then? Is this his way of nonchalantly letting me know in case I just happen to want to come, too?

  But no, he knows I have a boyfriend.

  I can’t help but think, though, if for some reason Cole and I didn’t make it another month, would I come to the movies then, knowing he’d be here?

  I blink long and hard, guilt washing over me as I trail up the aisle. I’d probably be here. There aren’t a lot of “catches” in this town, and I had fun tonight. This guy is interesting.

  And good-looking.

  And employed.

  I should set him up with my older sister. How he’s gone by undetected under her radar all this time is a mystery to me.

  We push through the door, the last ones out of the theater and stop in the lobby, tossing away all our trash.

  I look up at him, my heart skipping a beat at seeing him in the brighter light and standing tall in front of me. Hazel eyes. Definitely hazel. But more green around the outside of the irises.

  His hair is styled with minimal product and just long enough to run your fingers through, and I drop my eyes to his smooth, tan neck. I can’t see if there’s a tan line under the collar of his T-shirt, though. Is he like that all over? An unbidden image of him hammering and hauling lumber without a shirt on flashes in my mind and I…

  I close my eyes again, shaking my head. Yeah, whoa, okay.

  “Um, I better head back,” I tell him, gripping the strap of my bag. “Hopefully my boyfriend is waiting at the bar to pick me up by now.”

  “Bar?”

  “Grounders?” I answer, thinking he probably should know the place. It’s one of only three bars in town, although many favor Poor Red’s or the strip club over the dive I work at. “I got off a little early tonight—unexpectedly—but he’s my ride, and I couldn’t get a hold of him. He should be there now, though.”

  He pushes the door open, holding it for me as I leave the theater, and follows me out.

  “Well, I hope you had a good birthday, despite having to work,” he says.

  I move to the right toward where Grounders is, and he veers left.

  “And thanks for keeping me company.” I tell him. “I hope I didn’t ruin the movie for you.”

  He gazes at me for a moment, his breathing growing heavier as a torn look crosses his face. Finally, he shakes his head, averting his eyes. “Not at all,” he says.

  A moment of silence passes, and slowly, we both steer farther apart but neither of us turns our backs on one another.

  The silence gets longer, the distance farther, and finally he raises a hand, giving me a little wave before hooking both hands in his back pockets. “Goodnight,” he says.

  I just stare at him. Yeah, goodnight.

  And then I turn away, my stomach twisting into a tighter knot.

  I didn’t even get his name. It’d be nice to say ‘hi’ if I run into him again.

  I don’t have time to dwell, though, because my phone rings, and I slide it out of my pocket, seeing Cole’s name on the screen.

  I stop on the sidewalk and answer it. “Hey, you at Grounders?” I ask him. “I’m almost there.”

  He doesn’t say anything, though, and I pause, calling his name. “Cole? Hey, are you there?”

  Nothing.

  “Cole?” I say louder.

  But the line is dead. I go to call him back, but I hear a voice behind me.

  “Your boyfriend’s name is Cole?” the man from the theater asks. “Cole Lawson?”

  I turn around to see him slowly walking back toward me.

  “Yeah,” I say. “You know him?”

  He hesitates for a moment as if coming to terms with something, and then he holds out his hand, finally introducing himself. “I’m Pike. Pike Lawson.”

  Lawson?

  He pauses a moment and then adds, “His father.”

  My lungs empty. “What?” I breathe out.

  His father?

  My mouth falls open, but I clamp it shut again, looking up at this man with new eyes as realization dawns.

  Cole has talked about his father in passing—I knew he lived in the area—but they’re not close, from what I understand. The impression I had of Cole’s father from his son’s brief mentions doesn’t match the guy I talked to in the theater tonight. He’s nice.

  And easy to talk to.

  And he hardly looks old enough to have a nineteen-year-old son, for crying out loud.

  “His father?” I say out loud.

  He gives me a curt smile, and I know this is a turn of events he wasn’t expecting, either.

  I hear his cell vibrate in his pocket next, and he digs it out, checking the screen.

  “And if he’s calling me now, he must be in trouble,” he says, staring at the phone. “Need a lift?”

  “A lift where?”

  “Police station, I’d assume.” He sighs, answering the phone and leading the way. “Let’s go.”

  To continue reading, click here.

  First and always, to the readers—When I started publishing in 2013, I feel like I stuck to a formula. I wanted to please people, they liked what I did last time, so I went with what worked. And some readers did like it. After all, it’s nice to know what you can rely on with a writer when you’re in the mood for more of whatever you liked from them last time.

  I quickly realized I wasn’t happy, though. I wasn’t growing, and I was bored. So, I dug deep and let my imagination run, building Corrupt (Devil’s Night #1) like I built Bully, a parfait of everything I loved and owning my personality in the process. Corrupt ended up rubbing so many readers the wrong way. But…it’s also many readers’ favorite book, too.

  That, I realized, was worth something.

  I think my biggest fear as a writer is getting into a position where I’m turning out forgettable books like an assembly line every six weeks. I know with some of you I can be unpredictable, and that’s not necessarily a virtue. So thank you. To those of you who read my stories and come back to read more. I hope that you always know that whatever I write for you came as a result of a lot time and love and dreaming. It was special to me, and I had the best of intentions. Always.

  xoxo Pen

  Now on to the rest…

  To my family—my husband and daughter put up with my crazy schedule, my candy wrappers, and my spacing off every time I think of a conversation, plot twist, or scene that just jumped into my head at the dinner table. You both really do put up with a lot, so thank you for your patience.

  To Jane Dystel, my agent at Dystel, Goderich & Bourret LLC—there is absolutely no way I could ever give you up, so you’re stuck with me.

  To the PenDragons—you’re my happy place on Facebook. Thanks for being t
he support system I need and always being positive. Especially to the hard-working admins: Adrienne Ambrose, Tabitha Russell, Tiffany Rhyne, Kristi Grimes, and Lee Tenaglia.

  To Vibeke Courtney—my indie editor who goes over every move I make with a fine-toothed comb. Thank you for teaching me how to write and laying it down straight.

  To all the wonderful readers, especially on Instagram, who make art for the books and keep us all excited, motivated, and inspired…thank you for everything! I love your vision.

  To all of the bloggers and bookstagrammers—there are too many to name, but I know who you are. I see the posts and the tags, and all the hard work you do. You spend your free time reading, reviewing, and promoting, and you do it for free. You are the life’s blood of the book world, and who knows what we would do without you. Thank you for your tireless efforts. You do it out of passion, which makes it all the more incredible.

  To T. Gephart, who takes the time to check on me and see if I need a shipment of “real” Aussie Tim Tams. (Always!)

  And to B.B. Reid, KD Kimberly Carrillo, and Charleigh Rose for reading, being positive, and being my bouncing board.

  To every author and aspiring author—thank you for the stories you’ve shared, many of which have made me a happy reader in search of a wonderful escape and a better writer, trying to live up to your standards. Write and create, and don’t ever stop. Your voice is important, and as long as it comes from your heart, it is right and good.

  Penelope Douglas is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author.

  Her books have been translated into fourteen languages and include The Fall Away Series, The Devil’s Night Series, and the standalones, Misconduct, Punk 57, and Birthday Girl. Please look for Nightfall (Devil’s Night #4), coming soon.

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